If you were to ask Tang Yuejian what impression he had of that summer, it would definitely be the clean bar counter, the clean-colored wood sorrel in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, the green shade dialyzed by the sun, and him sitting among them.
Tan Xingze is very indifferent to the four seasons, but this year alone, he seems to have never felt summer. His four seasons are only autumn, winter, spring, and Tang Yuejian.
Purpose: I hope that all readers who have suffered similar trauma can have their own summer
